What's Real
by clair beaubien
Summary: Tag to MBV. Sam wakes up in the panic room with young Dean. When is an hallucination not an hallucination? Up now Ch2: Cas tries his mojo on Dean.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm sorry for all the reviews I have yet to answer. Life hasn't been my friend lately. I hope to make up for lost time over spring break. But I am always always grateful for and humbled by the people who read, review, favorite or recommend my stories.

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The pain came and went, the chills and shaking, the nausea and fear and isolation rolled over him and around him and through him and never let him rest. Even in unconsciousness, phantoms of menace or agony or derision hounded him, lashing him and ridiculing him, shrieking in his brain that he was worthless and weak and an intolerable burden to anyone he wanted to love him and that he'd never, ever be able to atone for even one single moment of his life.

_Give up, _they pushed him. _Say 'yes' and you'll never suffer again…_

But the only word in his mind was _Dean._

SPN*SPN*SPN*

Sam woke up in the panic room, on the same uncomfortable cot, in the same please-let-me-burn-these-clothes he'd been wearing for who knew how long. He was hot, thirsty, sweaty, achy, ashamed and very, very alone.

Well, okay, that last part wasn't quite true. Sam turned his head and saw Dean – _young Dean_ – sitting on the floor at the door. As near as Sam could hash out in his brain, the Dean he was looking at was twelve or thirteen. He was dressed in jeans and worn sneakers, a short sleeved plaid shirt over a gray sweatshirt, and he was reading a comic book.

"_Thought I was done hallucinating_…" Sam said to himself.

"Nice to see you too, Sleeping Beauty." Dean answered without lifting his eyes from the comic book.

"_Why are you here?"_ Was he here to mock Sam, or torment him, or berate him or add to his misery some other way?

"Gee, you think I might be taking care of my pain in the ass little brother?" Dean tossed the comic book aside and got to his feet. "You ready for some water, or are you gonna spaz out on me again?"

"Hallucinations can't bring water."

That seemed to catch Dean by surprise. But he answered, "_Right. I'm a hallucination. Thanks for the update..._" and walked to the table that held the pitcher of water and what looked like a crumpled rag. Sam turned his head on his blanket pillow to watch him pour some water into the glass and bring it toward him. Maybe the glass and water and pitcher were hallucinations too.

"All right…" Dean sat on the edge of the cot and slipped a hand under Sam's head to help him sit up enough. _"Through the lips and over the gums, look out stomach, here it comes…" _

Sam took a sip. It really _was_ water, warm and tinny, but good. Good enough to want to drink more than Dean was willing to let him have. After a few swallows, he pulled the glass away and let Sam slip back to the cot.

"That's enough for now. You think I wanna be wearing that water? Think again." Dean set the glass on the floor and turned back to look at Sam. "So – you ready to blow this pop stand or what? 'Cause honestly Sammy, I've smelled dead bodies that didn't smell as bad as you do right now."

"Dean?" Sam couldn't process it. He had to be an hallucination.

"C'mon, Sammy…" Dean's voice turned gentle and he brushed his fingers through Sam's hair just like he used to. "If you want out of here, you need to give me something to work with. How're you feeling?"

How was he feeling? Coming out of Detox 2.0 to find his thirteen year old brother taking care of him? How _should _he be feeling?

"Confused. Really, really, confused."

"Okay." That was breathed out as much as spoken, and Dean picked up the glass and went back to the pitcher. He poured more water into the glass, poured some onto the rag, and brought them both back to the cot. The glass went on the floor again, he sat on the edge of the cot again, and used the rag to wipe Sam's face. "So - what are you confused about?"

"_You_." Even the water on his face felt good, washing away the sweat and spit and tear tracks.

"_Me_? What's to be confused about _me_?"

"How'd you even get here?" Even if Sam had time-traveled back far enough to be with teenage Dean, Bobby's panic room didn't exist back then.

"Y'ever hear of a _door_, genius?" Dean asked with a laugh. He looked the way Sam remembered him looking all those years ago, his hands felt the way Sam remembered them feeling, the way he kept his eyes on Sam's and how his mouth quirked into half a smile even while worry tugged between his eyebrows, how he knew to wipe the cool rag behind Sam's neck, and felt for fever while making it seem like he was only brushing the hair off Sam's forehead – it was Dean, it was all Dean taking care of his little brother.

"Dean?" Sam swallowed hard, afraid to hope. "_Dean?_"

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

"Is it you? I mean _really_ you?"

Dean looked hard at him then.

"It's _me_, Sam. I promise, it's _me._"

Sam stared at Dean and suddenly remembered a freezing cold February in Minnesota, when he was eight and had stomach flu and Dad was stuck at Pastor Jim's in a blizzard and the only thing that kept Sam going through the pain and nausea and shame of getting sick all over himself was Dean being there every single second. _This_ Dean was _that_ Dean, right down to the clothes and comic book and tired cheerfulness.

_His_ _big brother Dean._

"Oh – oh God." Tears overflowed Sam's eyes and he tried to reach for Dean and grab hold of him, but his hands didn't seem to be working. "Dean – God, Dean – I've _missed_ you. _So much."_

"Hey – _hey_. Calm down, Sammy." Dean put his hand over Sam's weakly struggling one and Sam grabbed hold as best he could. "I'm here, Sam. I'm not going anywhere. You gotta calm down if you wanna get out of here."

"_I'm sorry. I'm sorry I screwed up so bad, Dean. Please – you have to help me."_

"I'll help you, Sammy. You know I'll help you. But _you_ gotta help _me_. Okay? You gotta relax."

He stroked his fingers through Sam's hair, brushing his bangs out of his eyes, and Sam nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay? You'll relax? You'll do what I say?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do what you say." Sam agreed.

"Stick your tongue on a frozen phone pole in the middle of February?"

Sam heard the words, he knew what they meant, but it still took a minute for him to realize what Dean was actually asking him to do. When he did, he laughed, hard. Old or young, hallucination or not, Dean was still Dean.

"_Never again."_

"Good." Dean said and smiled. "Your brain's not as deep fried as I thought it was." He picked up the glass and helped Sam sit up a little again to have another drink. "You'll be outta here in no time…"

"Okay."

"Okay. Good. Get some sleep. That's the only thing that'll make time go faster around here."

Sam nodded and fidgeted a little on the thin mattress until his shoulder pressed against Dean's knee and then with that physical comfort, he closed his eyes and tried to let himself fall asleep. Dean stroked his fingers through Sam's hair a few more times, then just rested his hand on Sam's shoulder. Just like that time in Minnesota when Sam'd been so sick and in so much pain he'd actually _cried_ once when Dean had been out of his sight too long, Dean was sticking close to keep him quiet and calm.

God, Sam had missed that.

They stayed that way awhile, Dean on the edge of the cot, Sam floating in and out of sleep, checking each time he floated awake that Dean was still there, either by shifting so that he could feel him there, or opening his eyes to see him. The one time he opened his eyes though, he caught Dean covering a yawn, and he could see the dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes. And Sam realized again that their whole lives had been that way – Dean always having to wear himself out to take care of Sam. Whether Sam deserved it or not.

How many times _had_ he deserved it? How many more times _would_ he deserve it?

"I'm sorry." He said. He'd closed his eyes, but tears trickled out of the corners.

"Sorry that you're not as awesome as I am? Yeah, I'd be sorry too."

"I'm sorry that you had to spend your life – _waste_ your life – taking care of me."

"_Who says I wasted it?"_ Dean asked, and he sounded so much like _now-Dean_ that Sam opened his eyes and looked up at him. But it was still young Dean.

"_I do._ All your life, all you ever did was watch out for me and take care of me and keep me safe and all I ever did was –." Sam hated to even think what he'd done, how he'd abandoned Dean and hurt him, ignored him and everything he'd ever taught Sam. That couldn't happen again.

"Dean -." Sam pushed himself up on his elbow. " - no matter what – when Jake stabs me, you have to let me die. Don't save me, don't try to save me."

"Right, somebody tries to lay a finger on you and I'm supposed to hang back and let it happen. You _are_ delirious. Here…" Dean picked up the glass. "Drink some more water."

"No, Dean. _No -"_ Sam's argument got cut short when Dean pressed the glass to his lips and he had to swallow the water or wear it. "Dean – _please_." He kept on when Dean set the glass down again. "I don't want you to go to hell. Let me save you - _let me die_."

Dean shook his head.

"Not gonna happen, Sammy. I protect you. That's my job. _End of discussion_."

Sam dropped back down onto the cot and hit his head on the bedrail through the blanket pillow but it didn't hurt as much as knowing that Dean, this Dean, would still suffer and die and then suffer even more because of him, and he couldn't make it not happen.

"Hey, Sammy. C'mon. Y'gotta be careful." Dean switched so he was sitting at the head of the cot. He slid his arm under Sam and maneuvered so that he kept one arm around Sam's shoulders and under his head. With his other hand, he stroked Sam's hair. "Don't dent the furniture."

"_Please." _Sam cried and didn't try to stop it. "_Please let me save you."_

"Shh. Shh, now. C'mon. You've saved me like a million times already, man." Dean's fingers kept stroking through Sam's hair. "How many more times do you need to save me?"

"I need to save you from hell."

The only response Sam got was Dean wiping his hand under Sam's eyes and under his nose, and then wiping his hand on his jeans.

"You know I don't mind you crying, Sammy. But do you have to get snot-nosed on me? We already used up all the Kleenex."

"Dean – _please. I don't want you to go to hell."_

At first Dean didn't say anything again, then -

"You don't get it, Sammy? Hell isn't a place. _Hell is losing you_."

Sam heard the words but his brain still took its time processing them. When he realized what Dean was saying, more tears ran down his face and he pressed himself into Dean's side. Dean held him closer and kept stroking his hair. He started to rock a little, rocking Sam, and even though Sam was twice as old as _this_ Dean was, he reached an arm out around Dean and held onto him. Held onto the big brother who still loved him and needed him and cared about him. He held on and fell asleep to his brother rocking him, and stroking his fingers through his hair, and whispering,

"_I'm here, Sammy. I'm here…"_

SPN*SPN*SPN

Dean left the panic room and closed the door quietly. Cas stood near the bottom of the stairs.

"How is he?"

"Hallucinating again. Talking like I haven't gone to hell yet, like I haven't made the deal yet. He finally fell asleep though, been sleeping about an hour now. I guess that's something."

"He's not hallucinating." Cas said. "I extrapolated a memory for him. One I hoped would comfort him and let him rest."

"You _extrapolated_ a memory? What memory?"

"You were young, Sam I believe was eight or nine. You were alone in a motel room because of a snowstorm. Sam was astonishingly ill and you took care of him."

"_Minnesota?"_ Dean realized all at once. "I remember that. One word - _messy._ Sam was so sick, I finally wrapped him up in the blankets and set him in the tub, so we didn't have to worry about the mattress, because every time he threw up he -."

Well, that was more information than maybe Cas needed.

"So – why that memory? How the hell could _that_ memory get him to rest?"

Cas seemed surprised by the question.

"Sam feels that illness is when he was at his most infirm and unclean, yet you cared for him completely, with gentleness and affection, so I had him experience your presence _now_ as your younger self, _then_. He saw you and reacted to you as you were you then. I hoped it would help him rest because it's a time in his life that he often returns to in memory when he wants to feel comfort and acceptance from you."

_Well, that hurt._

"So – you're saying he doesn't feel that from me _now_?"

Cas started to answer, stopped to think about it, and started again.

"It is the memory that Sam returns to most often, and to the feelings of comfort and acceptance, security and reassurance, and simply _belonging_ with you that he experiences when he contemplates it."

Well, that was a well-thought-out and extremely safe answer, wasn't it? And damn if it didn't still _hurt_ that Sam found more comfort in a memory of Dean than in him actually being there.

"Do me a favor?" Dean asked Cas. "Turn '_young me'_ off."

SPN*SPN*SPN

When Dean went back into the panic room a few minutes later, Sam was exactly where he'd left him: turned on his side, curled up enough to fit his head and feet between the rails, and asleep. Sound asleep. Dean covered him with the extra blanket he'd brought, then lifted Sam's head to slip a pillow into place.

"_Hey."_ Sam whispered out. His eyes were slitted barely open and he sounded barely awake.

"Hey, Sammy. Go back to sleep." Dean whispered back to him. "I'm just tucking you in. When you wake up for real, we'll get you back upstairs."

But Sam squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, like he was trying to make himself stay awake.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Y'member Minn'sota? I was sick n'you made me a bed inna tub 'cause all I kept doing was be'n sick?"

"Yeah, I remember." Dean sat on the edge of the cot. "Why're you asking about that?"

"Had a weird dream, 'bout you."

"Yeah? Weird how?"

"Y'r kid. That kid, fr'm Minn'sota." Sam slurred out exhaustedly. "Sit'n here, talk'n me. S'weird. Nice buh'weird."

Well, if that's what it took to comfort Sam, a memory or a dream of a memory, Dean'd ask Cas to turn it back on.

"It was a dream, Sam. Go back to sleep and you'll dream that me again."

But Sam shook his head as he nestled into the pillow and pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

"Naah, want you here. Y'r better."

"I am?" Dean had to ask, surprised. "How come?"

Sam took a deep breath and let it out and fidgeted until he was pressed against Dean's knee.

"He's you fr'm Minn'sota. Y'r _my_ Dean."

The End


	2. The View From Inside

To say that Sam's journey up the stairs was laborious would be to make a _very _accurate statement. Even once begun, he and Dean rested longer _between _each step than they spent going _up _each step. Sam was obviously exhausted, completely drained of strength, energy, and bodily fluids. Dean was obviously concerned, protective, and determined to see Sam to the first floor, even if it took the rest of the present millennium.

Though I could determine no valid reason to subject Sam to this prolonged struggle when I could have him anywhere in the house, anywhere in the _world_, in the blink of an eye, I kept my opinion to myself. Especially since importuning Dean always has the effect opposite of what is wanted.

Well, I _thought _I was keeping it to myself, but as Sam rested on the middle step of Bobby's basement stairs, Dean turned to me.

"Hey, Grumpy. If you need something to do other than complain, why don't you go put a chair at the top of the steps? Sammy's gonna need to sit and catch his breath when we get there."

I glared at him briefly then removed myself to the kitchen to get the requested chair.

"How're they doing?" Bobby asked me.

"Sam refuses to be moved except by his own power, and Dean refuses to _make _Sam move other than by his own power."

"You've known these boys _how_ long, and you're still realizing just how stubborn they can be?"

"It would be in Sam's best interest to allow me to place him in his bed or in your shower or even in this chair rather than continue this journey under his own power."

"Trust me - it's in Sam's best interest that he make however long a trip it turns out to be under his own power and with Dean by his side."

As there was no argument to be made against that statement, I started to take the chair that Dean had requested out of the kitchen, but Bobby turned his wheelchair towards me.

"Didn't you say you got into Sam's head last night, worked some mojo on him that helped him get to sleep?"

"Yes, I projected one of his own memories into his conscious mind so that he perceived Dean from a time in his life when he felt -."

My description was cut short by Bobby making a gesture with his hand that I knew indicated that completing the rest of my story was unnecessary.

"So why don't you try the same on Dean? Stick some memory in there that'll get him to want to help Sam a little faster."

"I'll try."

As I put the chair into place near the top of the basement stairs, I saw that Dean and Sam had progressed to the third from the top step. At this rate, Sam would be in bed by summer. Any effort would be worth trying if it meant he would be at rest within the current solar cycle.

I projected my will into Dean's subconscious. I could see what Dean saw while still being able to see through my vessel's eyes.

"Dean?" Sam said. Through Dean's eyes I saw that Dean saw his eight year old brother on the stair beside him.

"How're you doing, Sammy?" Dean expressed no surprise, only concern.

"I don't know if I can make it."

"Sure you can. Here. It's just a few more steps." Dean put his arm around Sam's back and with relative ease impelled him up the last two stairs and to the chair I had placed there. "All right, here we go."

Dean sat Sam in the chair, wrapped a blanket around him, and crouched next to him, keeping his arm around Sam's back.

"_Y'okay_?"

Sam shook his head and bowed himself almost in half in misery. He pulled the blanket closer and rocked himself in his chair.

"Okay. We'll get through this, don't worry. Bobby - Gatorade?"

Bobby handed Dean a bottle of green liquid, the lid of which had already been removed. Dean pulled Sam gently to rest against his chest and offered him the liquid, but Sam shook his head. _I _saw the full grown Sam Winchester shaking and sweating and refusing refreshment. _Dean _only saw his small brother _Sammy_, tucked into his arms, in need of absolute attention and care.

"Just sips, OK?" Dean said it as though Sam had agreed to be thus dosed. "No sense tossing it all back up again."

Sam, _both _Sams, gave in and took a sip.

Then, to Dean's mind, it was just the two of them. Bobby and I ceased to register in his awareness. For a half hour or more, he sheltered Sam under his arm and continued to ply him with the green liquid. Sam, young Sam to Dean's eyes, took consistent sips and stayed pressed against him, letting himself be rocked and soothed and cared for.

As Sam took more sips, as he gained strength, as his posture righted itself more and more, I could feel within Dean a growing warmth of affection and relief. Sam was gaining and so all in his world at the moment was right.

When all the liquid was gone, Dean set the empty bottle on the floor and addressed Sam.

"What do you think, Sammy? Ready to apply some water to the _outside_?"

Sam, young Sam, eight year old _Sammy_, sat fully upright, looked into Dean's eyes, and nodded. I felt the charge of pride rise into Dean's chest.

"Okay. Good. That's good. Let's head down to Bobby's bathroom, see if we can remember where he hides his stash of Mr. Bubble."

"_I do __**not **__have Mr. Bubble -"_ Bobby sputtered behind me but Dean was still tuning out any presence but _Winchester_ presence. He helped _Sammy _stand up, kept his grip around his back, and took each interminable step with him down the hallway to the bathroom. Sam, _Sammy_, shuffled along and Dean kept up a monologue of the progress they were making and what would happen after they accomplished the shower.

And with every step they took, the warmth and affection grew inside of him.

Once inside the bathroom, Dean released his grip on Sam and pulled the blanket from his shoulders to let it pool onto the floor. He turned the water on in the bathtub and poured a dollop of shampoo into it to bubble up.

"_All right, let's get this show on the road."_

To my view, as I closed the door behind them, very adult Sam looked down to the top of Dean's head, bent down as he worked the buttons on Sam's shirt. To Dean's view, _Sammy _stood there quietly and let his brother undress him.

That is, until his shirts were off and his jeans were about to be removed.

"_Dean, I can do it." _Was Sam's plaintive remark.

"Sammy, you can barely stand on your own two feet. C'mon, I promise - I won't even look."

True to his word, Dean closed his eyes as he helped Sam become fully undressed and kept them closed until he heard Sam deposit himself into the warm water. When Dean opened his eyes again, his brother's posture in the bathtub was much the same as it had been in the chair: huddled, exhausted, and miserable.

"All right, let's get some warm water running through the shower hose." Dean said, as he reached for said hose. _Sammy _made an effort to lift the bottle of shampoo from the corner of the tub, but it sagged in his fingers, and Dean took it from him. "Thanks."

One might've expected Dean to feel aggravation, anguish, even just his own exhaustion as he continued to take almost total care of his brother, but all I sensed in him was a swell of gentle, affectionate, loving, protective feelings, _maternal _feelings, as he wet and washed and rinsed Sam's hair for him.

When Dean reached for the washcloth and soap though, Sam stopped him.

"I can do it, Dean."

"You sure?"

"Uh hunh."

Dean felt some reluctance, but he also felt the force of the look of determination that he saw on Sam's face.

"All right. I've got your pack out there, I'll bring in your clean clothes."

I met Dean at the bathroom door with Sam's backpack in my hand.

"Thanks."

As he pulled a bundle of clothing out and handed the backpack back to me, I asked,

"When Sam has finished showering, _please _allow me to remove him to his bed instead of making him exert himself again. He can certainly have no energy left for that."

Dean gave me a look, reached in to place the bundle of clothing on the sink in the bathroom, closed the door over again, and then indicated that we should walk farther away from the door, farther away from Sam.

"Look - whatever happens is going to be what Sammy _wants _to happen. You saw him these past four days - he lost his dignity, his freedom, and practically his sanity. If he decides he wants to walk to _Tijuana_, I'll walk with him."

Having thusly resolved the matter, Dean released me once again from his awareness, walked back to the bathroom and called in,

"Don't fall asleep in there and drown, Sammy. I couldn't take the irony right now."

He received an answering laugh from behind the bathroom door.

Dean waited outside the bathroom, leaning back against the wall next to the door, until _Sammy _was washed and clean and dressed in warm clothes and standing in the doorway, looking at his big brother with much the same warm, tired smile with which his big brother was looking at him.

"Looking good, Sammy. Ready for something to eat?"

Sam nodded.

"I'll give it a try."

"All right then." Dean put his arm around Sam's shoulders, and they progressed to the kitchen at a slightly faster pace than they had managed previously. Once there, Dean pulled out a chair for Sam at the table.

"Thanks, Dean." _Sammy_ said, gracing his brother with a blinding smile.

"_You bet."_

Dean was practically afire, he was so happy to have Sam doing as well as he seemed to be. I have never felt such an intense sensation. It was intriguing and gratifying to experience such overwhelming, unconditional love.

While Sam waited at the table, Dean filled a glass with milk for him. And then filled it again when Sam immediately drank the first one down. And then waited a few moments to see if the second glass would disappear as quickly as the first. When it didn't, he set the carton of milk on the table.

"All right, Sammy. The Winchester Grille is officially open. What's your pleasure?"

A look of puzzlement creased Sam's face and it was clearly with some effort that he finally decided,

"Peanut butter? Can I have peanut butter like you used to make me?"

"You got it."

Two slices of white bread were toasted and then liberally covered with margarine and peanut butter. They were pressed together, placed on a small plate, cut in half on the diagonal and then one of those halves was cut again into two triangles, and then the whole was quite ceremoniously placed before Sam, which elicited a snigger from him.

"Fancy, Dean. You gonna fluff my napkin, too?"

Dean grinned and leaned back against the sink to watch Sam eat his sandwich, which he did with some fervor. In less than two minutes, he had consumed it entirely.

"Would you make me another one?" _Sammy_ asked Dean, and Dean all but lit up inside with pride and love and affection as he turned to fulfill his brother's request.

Watching Dean from outside his own consciousness never affords one much indication of the depth of his feelings, unless he were to be provoked of course. The view from inside was quite eye opening, even humbling, to find such a bond of unconditional, unbreakable love between these otherwise all-too-flawed brothers.

When the second sandwich and glass of milk had been consumed and Sam declined the offer of more of either, Dean put the milk in the refrigerator and the used dishes in the sink and patted _Sammy_ on the shoulder.

"Think you can make the trek upstairs? Otherwise, the Castiel Express leaves whenever you want."

As willing as I was - as _anxious _as I was - to place Sam anywhere he wanted to be, I could sense that Dean wanted him to accomplish this final leg of the journey as he had the previous, under his own power. He wanted Sam to _want_ to accomplish it under his own power.

Sam did not - indeed, _could not_ - disappoint Dean.

"I feel better, I can walk upstairs."

The intensity of Dean's pride and relief nearly drove me from his subconsciousness.

Fortunately, the journey up to the second floor was accomplished with more speed and less rest periods than the journey to the first floor had required. Dean kept one step behind Sam up the staircase and down the hallway and into the room they occupied whenever they stayed with Bobby.

By now, as Sam's condition had improved, Dean's own exhaustion had caught up with him. As he pushed Sam toward the one bed, he sat down on the other.

"All right, Sammy. Lights out. Let's get some real shut eye."

_Sammy_ had a slightly different idea in mind.

"You lay down first, Dean."

Dean pondered this a moment until he deciphered - he thought - _Sammy's_ request. He pushed himself into the bed and tiredly patted the mattress.

"All right, c'mon. Hop in."

_Sammy_ stared at him a moment with incredulity tinged with amusement.

"Dude, I'm flattered. _Really_. You're just not my type. I _meant_ - you need to sleep as much as I do. I'll lay down when you do."

"Nope, you first." Dean said. He pushed himself back off the bed and with a gesture indicated Sam should stand up, which he did, long enough for Dean to pull the blankets back. Then Dean gestured him into the bed and pulled the blankets up over his - _Sammy_ - didn't lay down immediately though.

"No kiss goodnight?" He asked with a definite grin of facetiousness. Dean didn't hesitate however. He put his hands on either side of _Sammy's_ face and kissed him on the top of the head. _Sammy_ laughed and tucked himself under the blankets and closed his eyes. Only then did Dean lay down on his own bed. I removed myself from his consciousness as he succumbed to sleep.

"_Well?_" Bobby asked when I joined him in the library. "How'd it go?"

"Dean's psyche is a very strenuous place to be."

"_Ha._ Tell me something that might surprise me." He laughed. "Did you work some mojo on him?"

I deposited myself in a chair to tell my tale. I felt weary. Perhaps Dean's exhaustion had had some influence on me.

"Dean saw Sam, not as he is now, not as we see him, rather he saw him as he was when he was eight years old."

"Why eight?"

I had given this some thought.

"Sam was eight when he first acquired the truth of their lives. It was the first time his faith in his father was tested and found wanting and therefore it was the beginning of Sam's deeper belief in and reliance on Dean as protector. And though it was only the beginning, I believe it is the time when Dean felt most competent in that role."

Bobby nodded.

"Well, since both boys are upstairs and quiet now, I guess you made a good choice."

"On the contrary, it was not my choice." I told him. "I was merely an observer; I exerted no influence on Dean. He saw Sam as an eight year old because _he saw Sam as an eight year old._ It would be my conjecture that whenever Sam is ill, injured, or in peril, Dean sets aside his awareness of Sam as an adult and instead perceives him as a young boy in need of - and subject to - his help, protection, and solace."

Bobby, for a moment, was silent.

"Don't that beat all…" He said, with some wonder.

"Yes." I said. Knowing the force and motivation of the passion underneath Dean's perception of his brother, I had to agree with Bobby. "_It does beat all…"_

The End


End file.
